"Why don't you like farming? You never used to talk like this?"
Chuckles considered.
"I always did like water better than earth," he said solemnly. "I remembers when I was a baby I liked it. And everybody ought to fight for their country—Miss Jockie says so—and farmers don't fight. Aunt Monnie, if you promise you'll change me from a farmer into a sailor, I'll bring you back a red and green parrot the first day I come back from sea!"
"No," said Monica, trying to speak lightly; "I can't be bribed, Chuckles. You must grow up a good man, and carry out your father's wishes."
Chuckles said no more. His aunt drove on through the sunshiny green lanes feeling a heavy weight on her heart. Her farm had not been prospering lately; her new man was careless and untrustworthy. She feared she would not be able to keep him, but she dreaded another change. Chuckles always depressed her when he talked of his dislike to farming. She wondered as he grew older if he would take his own way instead of hers. He had a stubborn will and much tenacity of purpose; but she told herself that she had not toiled all these years to give up the fruits of her labour at a child's bidding.
And then, dismissing the subject from her mind, she talked quite happily to the small boy till she reached her destination. Her business did not take her very long. She left Chuckles the proud possessor of the reins outside the house, and when she joined him again, he relinquished them very reluctantly.
"I can drive Nellie. She turned her head to look at me, for she meant to bolt, but I showed her the whip and she was afraid of me!"
Monica drove home a different way. She was not quite certain of the road, and missed her bearings, but when the river came in sight she was reassured, for she knew she had only to follow it. Some tall yellow flags attracted Chuckles' attention. He begged to be allowed to get down and gather them.
"You must be quick, then," his aunt said to him, "or we shall be very late home."
He scrambled down. Monica dreamily gazed before her, enjoying the beauty of the scene. The river banks were shrouded with scenery: wild roses, honeysuckle, and the white meadow-sweet climbed in riotous profusion over the bushes. Here and there clumps of blue forget-me-nots brightened the edge of the water. On the farther side of the river was a wooded hill, and in a dip at one side was a glimpse of the distant sea. Clouds were rolling in from it, and Monica began to fear that a storm was on its way.